


To Build a Home

by forestdivinity (ForestDivinity)



Series: The Horror and the Wild [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Light BDSM, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use only mentioned in the past, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Smut, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Witcher!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22694224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestDivinity/pseuds/forestdivinity
Summary: Julian had left Stygga Castle when he was twenty-seven and he’d never looked back. He’d lived a nomadic lifestyle since that day and it had suited him just fine, flitting from town to city to village from spring through autumn, and then he’d travel south for the winter. Find a place to hide up in and try to ignore the way his head tried to tear itself apart the closer the ice and the snow got to him. Some years it was better than others. Some years he’d stay close to people and warmth and food until the first celebrations had passed and everyone was fat on beer and love.-Geralt worries for Jaskier as the summer fades, his behaviour becomes more erratic and Geralt just wants to help him. Going to Kaer Morhen would get them away from all the stares and jeers of the public and Geralt would give Jaskier something stable to help calm his restless mind.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Horror and the Wild [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632382
Comments: 79
Kudos: 791





	1. 1

Julian had left Stygga Castle when he was twenty-seven and he’d never looked back. He’d lived a nomadic lifestyle since that day and it had suited him just fine, flitting from town to city to village from spring through autumn, and then he’d travel south for the winter. Find a place to hide up in and try to ignore the way his head tried to tear itself apart the closer the ice and the snow got to him. Some years it was better than others. Some years he’d stay close to people and warmth and food until the first celebrations had passed and everyone was fat on beer and love. 

Never any longer though.

Most winters he spent in a strange daze, waking up bloody and scared of the black tendrils that danced across his vision. If there were no beasts to claw at he’d claw at himself and was ashamed to admit that many of his scars were self inflicted - though just as many were not.

Even after becoming Jaskier, he’d hated the winter. He was glad, each year when Geralt looked at him and said he was returning to Kaer Morhen, for it meant he didn’t have to make his own excuses to hide. He’d go to one of the big cities and play for coin until his fingers bled and he had nothing left to sing and then, when the noises in his head got too much, he would rent a room and sleep for as long as possible, trying to stave off the monster that curled inside of him.

Now that summer was dipping into autumn again he could feel the stirs of restlessness in his bones. It was worse than it had been in years, ever since he’d ripped the pendant off the monster had been prowling back and forth. Sometimes, when he buried his face in Geralt’s chest, or kissed him, it was easy to ignore.

Most of the time it wasn’t. 

And Geralt watched him with sadness in his eyes, like he’d never noticed Jaskier being so jumpy before. Or maybe he had, but he’d brushed it off, and now he felt bad for it. Jaskier didn’t know, but it made something close to guilt curl in his stomach and he tried to force the fear away. He’d always been a coward, scared of the world around him, scared of himself, and the fear had made him angry and prone to lashing out. 

He didn’t want to lash out at Geralt. He wanted to be sunny smiles and happiness and buttercups for Geralt, but it was so difficult when there were little black tendrils at the edge of his vision and everything was going grey as the chill of autumn snuck in. Winter was on it’s way and Jaskier dreaded it. Geralt would leave for Kaer Morhen again soon and Jaskier would have to wait the cold out, claw the blood from his body just to feel an inch of warmth.

They’d been travelling steadily north all summer and Jaskier was glad when Geralt went out to earn them coin because he could rock himself on the bed and he didn’t have to see pity in his lover’s golden eyes. It was harder now. A lot of people still recognised Jaskier and they’d ask him to play a tune or two but many looked at him and saw his eyes and teeth and claws and even with a lute on his back he was still nothing more than a mutant. Those were the nights where he buried his teeth in Geralt and shoved himself onto his cock with little preparation because he’d rather be hurt than crying. Geralt would look at him so softly after, wash them down and kiss Jaskier until he was asleep and Jaskier hated seeing him so sad - hated being the cause.

It got worse, as it always had. Jaskier jumped at the slightest of sounds and his chest began to ache whenever Geralt left, just in case he didn’t come back. He stumbled over his own feet because he couldn’t see properly through the hazy mist of grey and black and red, until Geralt sat him on Roach and glared at Jaskier until he was still.

And north they went, the summer solstice long passed, nights getting longer again and cooler as they walked.  _ Where are we going _ , Jaskier wanted to ask,  _ what are we going to do _ ? But he was scared of the answer and what he might see in Geralt’s eyes, and he knew it was the frantic paranoia talking but he wasn’t loud enough to talk over it. So he walked or he rode and got quieter and quieter until he barely spoke at all.

* * *

“We’re going to Kaer Morhen.” Geralt said one day, close to the end of summer. The last official day. Jaskier almost startled himself off Roach’s back and the horse gave an annoyed whinny until he pat her calm again.

“We?”

“Yes, Jaskier, we. You are… I love you, why would I leave you behind?” Geralt asked and Jaskier saw the statement there.  _ You are sick _ , it said,  _ I can’t leave you anywhere, _ it said,  _ I must trouble myself and bring you with me _ , it said. Jaskier wanted to shake his head, as if it would shake all the horrible thoughts away. He couldn’t find the words to answer Geralt.

“Jaskier…” His voice was oh so soft, like he was talking to a child, or a wounded animal. “Jaskier, I want you with me. I think it will be good for us. We’ve only just gotten together, I don’t want to leave you now.” 

The promises felt sickly sweet and he looked up at the sky where the last summer storm clouds were brewing and grimaced at the taste of vomit in his throat.  _ You should be happy _ , he told himself, but the monster was writhing in his belly. Geralt pulled Roach to a stop and he gathered Jaskier down into his arms, sitting them at the edge of the road. 

Fingers carded through his hair and he shivered against Geralt as the rain began to spit down on them, light for now and warm enough.

“Please come with me, Jaskier.” Geralt asked and his voice was like butter and honey and Jaskier could never say no to him. How could he ever say no? It wasn’t like he wanted to watch Geralt walk away, not knowing if he would come back, but Geralt didn’t know about the crack inside of Jaskier that had been steadily growing and growing for weeks now. Or really it had been growing since the day he was born, a great wide darkness, like a monster’s mouth, threatening to eat him from the inside out.

“Of course I will.” Jaskier said and he wriggled his way from Geralt’s arms and picked some dandelions from the side of the road, slipping them behind Geralt’s ear. “Where else would I rather be?” He asked and he smiled, sweet and easy. There was still a vein of sadness in Geralt’s scent but he took Jaskier’s hand in one of his own and Roach’s reins in the other and they walked like that in the rain, both of them pretending that everything was okay.

  
  



	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt's POV! A longer chapter this time, full of worry and love. Not much dialogue but it will pick up, I promise!

Geralt was worried. It was a feeling he’d grown used to, travelling with Jaskier. For two decades the man had been nothing more than a bumbling bard and Geralt had worried constantly that he was going to get himself killed - either by walking straight into the mouth of a monster, or pissing off the wrong noblewoman’s husband. Jaskier had never had much of a survival instinct, and he’d appeared to think with his cock or not at all. Now Geralt knew better, knew who and what Jaskier really was, but he still worried.

Jaskier’s shoulder had healed well after that initial, frightful week and they’d long since left that sleepy little village behind, moving past silk sheets and dead wyverns so they could just be together. They stopped only when night fell to rest, lying side by side on the cool earth, Jaskier curled into his arms like he was meant to be there.

It was harder now to get a room in an inn or a tavern. People looked at Jaskier in the same way they looked at Geralt and Geralt finally understood why Jaskier had gotten angry every time someone had sideyed Geralt when he entered a room. They stared at Jaskier with disgust and fear, even if they hid it behind smiles or their demands for help and it made him angry. 

Geralt was used to it, when it was directed at himself, but Jaskier had spent twenty-two years as nothing more than a bright, silly human and Geralt could taste how his scent went sour every time someone glared at him. He deserved none of it and Geralt wanted to call them all fools for rejecting Jaskier, tell them they didn’t know what they were missing. It would have only made things worse though, so he didn’t. 

How long had Jaskier travelled alone? How old was he, really? Geralt didn’t know, and he had yet to ask. There were so many questions he wanted to know the answers to, wanted to ask Jaskier who he had been and what he had seen. He would have done, but every time he looked at Jaskier he could see pain written across his face and Geralt didn’t want to hurt him any more than he already was. Something told him that Jaskier hated the person in his past and Geralt knew that feeling all too well. There was no point in stirring up bad memories. Not yet.

Instead, he held Jaskier close and let him take what he wanted - and enjoyed it most of the time too - but Jaskier still didn’t seem happy and Geralt didn’t know what to do to help him. He gave Jaskier what he wanted, but was it really what he needed?

He thought of the winter, and what he would do. Thought of what Jaskier would do. Geralt didn’t want to let him go again. and while a human had never been to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier wasn’t a human was he? Jaskier was a Witcher. He was a Witcher and he had bright blue eyes and fangs and claws and he was struggling and he might have been a Cat but Vesemir surely wouldn’t say no. Not if he saw how Jaskier pulsed out hurt like an open wound. 

Geralt wondered who had taught him, why he bled so much emotion that it curdled like milk sometimes. He’d never seen Jaskier meditate, wondered if he knew how. 

There were stories about the Cat School, how their mutations all went wrong. Jaskier ached like a bruise and Geralt wanted to curse every Witcher he’d ever met for doing this to Jaskier. For doing this to thousands of children. For doing it to him. They had been children, he wanted to tell them

In some ways they still were.

He blinked away his own thoughts, his own self pity, watched as Jaskier curled his hands into biting fists again, and nodded to himself. What Jaskier needed was something stable to rely on. A proper foundation, instead of whatever crumbling rocks and sand he’d been forced to build his house on. He needed care and comfort and a hand to guide him through the dark.

He always flinched in the dark. Before, Geralt had put it down to being human. Human’s had bad night vision, they stumbled and they fell and they winced at every sound, making them into monsters in their heads. Jaskier wasn’t human, and he was a Cat so his night vision should have been perfect but he still stumbled and flinched, like something was obscuring his sight. Geralt could taste the fear that wafted off of him, and sometimes he watched as Jaskier jumped at things that Geralt couldn’t see and he wished he would just ask for help but he didn’t.

Everytime Jaskier caught him looking he would steel himself and paint on a bright smile. It wasn’t entirely fake, Geralt could taste the happiness when they looked at each other, when they brushed their lips together, but that scared, don’t-leave me, hurt still echoed through it all. 

Geralt continued to guide them north and he thought of how to tell Jaskier where they were going. They’d never spent a winter together and Geralt had never thought about what Jaskier did while they were apart. Surely he sang, and danced, and enjoyed the celebrations. That was what he’d assumed, but he knew, watching how Jaskier spiralled as the weather got cold and the nights got steadily darker that he’d been wrong.

* * *

“I love you, I love you.” He whispered softly on the nights where Jaskier fell into a deep, fitful sleep before him. It wouldn’t fix Jaskier but he hoped it might help soothe whatever dark thing he fought against.

* * *

The day he told Jaskier where they were going his heart had all but stopped in his chest, he feared Jaskier would say no. Geralt had no other plan but Kaer Morhen and holding Jaskier through the long winter.

But Jaskier had said yes and Geralt could scent his reluctance in the air even if his words were sweet and loving. He clutched Jaskier’s hand in his own and squeezed it gently as they walked that evening, feeling the last of the summer’s rain on their back, and he hoped he was making the right decision.

“I love you.” Geralt told him as they walked and he looked at Jaskier’s feet in his ill fitting boots and he frowned. The soft brown suede pair he’d been wearing before the wyvern had vanished and they’d hastily procured a pair from the innkeep who was about the right size, but Geralt knew they had to be uncomfortable. He looked at Jaskier in the deep black swathe of fabric that was one of Geralt’s shirts and he frowned again and he wondered if Jaskier missed all his pretty little things.

If he did, he hadn’t complained yet.

“I love you too.” Jaskier said and squeezed Geralt’s hand in his own, damp but warm where they were clasped together. 

Geralt smiled and stopped them in a leafy clearing that night, setting up the tarp so that they could both sleep dry. Jaskier tuned his lute but he didn’t play and Geralt watched him with something heavy in his heart. When he got the fire going, he pulled Jaskier close and peppered kisses down his neck. 

_ Tell me what’s wrong, tell me how to help _ , he wanted to ask, but Jaskier was quiet and his eyes were half shut and Geralt didn’t want to disturb him when he looked so sweet. Instead he stroked down Jaskier’s sides and rubbed his arms and legs gently enough that he barely noticed and made a thousand silent promises to help him.

* * *

They started on the road to Kaer Morhen proper the next morning. Geralt wanted to get there early this year, before there was any hint of frost or snow. It was a difficult enough trek most years and now he had Jaskier with him - sick and scared and stubborn Jaskier, who had never walked this path before - so Geralt thought it best to make it as easy as possible.

The closer they got the quieter the roads got, until they weren’t really roads at all and then it was just the three of them, Jaskier, Roach, and Geralt. The silence seemed to echo between them.

It was strange, they were closer than ever before and yet Jaskier felt so far away from him sometimes. It was very rarely, only on the sunniest days, that he plucked his lute, and he wouldn’t sing but he would occasionally hum along with the sad tune. Geralt let him ride on Roach more often than not and Jaskier always gave him a curious look and sometimes he would from and huff and it was so prissy and familiar that it made him smile.

“I am perfectly capable of walking, you know, Geralt!” He’d huff out, his arms across his chest, shining in the bright autumn sun. 

“I know.” Geralt would say and he would continue to lead Roach up the familiar tracks.

Those were the days that he liked the most, where whatever darkness Jaskier saw faded for a moment and he was back and bright as he’d ever been. Geralt didn’t mind the quiet, and he understood how people could be haunted by dreams and things they couldn’t see. He just wished he could help Jaskier. It was just sometimes missed the bright and bubbly man that he’d fallen in love with. Not because he didn’t love Jaskier in all his moods, because he did.

More because he could tell Jaskier missed it too. Could see how he hated being so, so sad and scared to his core.

* * *

The further they get from anything that could reasonably be called civilisation the quicker they begin to move. Geralt wakes up one morning and Jaskier has a face of stubble that threatens to become a beard if he’s not careful, and he notices that his hair is curling around his ears.

“You look adorable.” He tells Jaskier as he sucks lovebites into his neck one evening and he loves how it makes Jaskier squirm in his lap.

“I always look adorable.” There is a familiar note of pride in Jaskier’s voice that makes Geralt’s lips turn up at the corners and he smirks, squeezing the slender body he holds against his own, listening to how Jaskier gasps.

“You do. But I like seeing you let go. I like seeing you like this, knowing that no-one else gets to.” Jaskier is wriggling now, his cheeks flushed red as Geralt drags a thumb over the rough stubble that’s growing there. 

“Possessive arse…!” He bites out and Geralt grins wider, captures his lips in a hungry kiss.

“And you’re all mine.” Geralt says, his voice a low growl as they tumble back onto the bedroll - and if they’re a little late leaving some mornings then it’s Jaskier’s fault, for looking so damn good.

When he told him as such Jaskier grinned roguishly like he’d used to and flicked his hair back over his ears.

“See something you like, do you?” He’d teased and Geralt could only nod.

“Always.”

* * *

It was the end of the first month of autumn that they reached the pass that lead to Kaer Morhen. Jaskier was flighty with anxiety and Geralt had stopped letting him ride on Roach for fear he might fall straight off. Instead he held Jaskier’s hand, worried he might bolt again and told him stories about monsters Jaskier had surely fought and places that Jaskier had surely been to.

Jaskier clutched at him like a lifeline and his heart beat rapid in his chest, like that of a hummingbird and Geralt worried again, whether he was doing the right thing, bringing Jaskier here.

And then Jaskier would flinch against his shoulder and he steeled his resolve because it had to be the right thing.

It had to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Kudos and comments make the author thrive! This fic will definitely not be finished as quick as Of Buttercups and Blood, as I go back to work tomorrow and don't stop for like a week so any feedback would be adored as it will definitely keep me motivated!
> 
> Follow me @ashayathyla on tumblr too!


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for descriptions of panic attack and dissociation!

Kaer Morhen loomed. It was the only way to describe it. It was barely early autumn when they reached it, but so far north, so high up the mountains, it was already getting its first dusting of snow and Jaskier could feel the cold to his bones. It left him frustrated and shivering, hating the chill, his annoyance only made worse by the fact that Geralt, damn him, was fine. Not even his nose was flushed red with cold. Jaskier was a Witcher too! The cold shouldn’t have bothered him, but it sunk into his body with every breath he took and settled somewhere between his stomach and his ribs, spreading to his ears and toes with every stutter of his heart. 

It wasn’t fair. 

_ Life has never been fair, _ the voice inside him muttered, made only more bitter by the ice that surrounded them. Jaskier could only shake his head and sigh, shoving his hands up under his armpits, where the cold had yet to fully penetrate. Jaskier’s silk doublet - the thickest one he’d had, but silk nonetheless, did nothing to ward off the icy chill. He wished he’d invested in a pair of gloves. Soft leather like Geralt’s perhaps. Or even the thick woolen mittens some of the northern villages wore as they travelled. Alas, he had nothing but his own skin to stop his fingers freezing. 

* * *

They were both on Roach today, him and Geralt. Despite the extra weight she walked at a continuous, steady pace, not once faltering. The path got narrow as it wound its way up the mountains, until it passed into treacherous territory, meaning Jaskier was quite happy to be riding rather than walking for once. It was clear that Geralt wanted to get to the crumbling fort as soon as possible with the way he carefully urged the mare forwards, not cruel but certainly insistent. Whenever they stopped for water, or just for a moment's rest, Jaskier could see the worry and excitement warring in his eyes. This was Geralt’s home, the same way Stygga had never been his. 

Styyga Citadel had been a prison. It had been a great ugly thing made of rock and pain, layers of screaming nestled between its stones. Jaskier had never thought of it anything other than the horror it truly was. He might have been raised there, but it wasn’t a home. It might have been accurate to say it was some twisted nightmare version of a home, if all the kindness had been sucked out and replaced with the sounds of crying children.

Jaskier wanted to vomit.

Just thinking of it made his stomach turn. And now he couldn’t drive the thoughts of the place out of his mind. Did all Witcher castles look the same? Was it some unique way of building, a type of torture? In his mind the image of Kaer Morhen and the Stygga Citadel blurred over each other and he found himself lolling forwards atop Roach, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold himself together. The mare didn’t react. For a moment the world seemed to spin, but somewhere very far away, as if looking through a crystal ball, or a haze of drugged potion smoke. 

The snow and the rocks melted away from his vision and all he could see was Kaer Morhen, as if it was right in front of his face, its crumbling facade warping in strange ways. In his ears, even the wind had stopped howling and all he could hear was the rapid beating of his own heart, like an echoing drum the beat in his chest and in his head. A dull thump that grew faster and louder with every shaky breath he took. 

_ Run _ , his instincts screamed at him,  _ run now! _ But his body was no longer his own.

It shook and shivered but was otherwise as still as a statue, thighs clamped around Roach, hands buried beneath his armpits. His nails - claws - dug into the soft flesh there but the pinpricks of pain didn’t register, swallowed by the sickly feeling of panic that was growing inside his foggy brain. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe. The world was fracturing, splintering like crystals in front of his eyes.

_ Madness, utter madness. _

* * *

“Jaskier…” Someone was calling his name, their voice as quiet as a whisper, drowned out by the hot ache behind his eyes. He didn’t know where to look, the sound was a silent echo that reverberated around his head. In his chest his heart lurched.

_ Breathe _ , he tried to tell himself but it was impossible. He either took short, gulping, gasps of air or didn’t at all. Unknown to himself he swayed in the saddle, even after Geralt had pulled them to a halt.  _ Jaskier _ , the whispering repeated, again and again, but it was fading fast.

Dark tendrils began to leak across the world, seeping out from the cracked facade of Kaer Morhen, spreading closer to him, but try as he might he couldn’t scramble back. Behind him was a wall, in front of him a hard place. Unbidden a sound began to echo around him, a keening wail.

“Jaskier!” A hand covered his eyes, a voice close to his ear startled him enough that the panic fled for just a moment. Geralt wrapped his other arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulled him close, until his back was pushed up against Geralt’s chest. It took him a moment to realise the violent cry was slipping from his own mouth, amplified by the mountains, and with a click he closed his mouth, swallowing it. 

“There we go. Relax, Jaskier. I have you.” Geralt murmured, and Jaskier realised he could feel the warmth of his breath against his ear. Geralt’s hand stayed over his eyes, large enough to cover both of them easily and still be able to rub his thumb along the sweep of Jaskier’s cheekbones. 

“It’s okay. Nothing is going to hurt you.” With his vision blocked he couldn’t see the wavering image of the castle, nor the inky tendrils that liked to dance their way across his sight. Instead there was just a plain, comforting black. A blankness and a warmth where Geralt’s fingers were splayed against his skin. Jaskier took in a deep, shuddering breath, one that made his shoulders shake and his chest rattle before pushing the air out from between his lips. 

“Sorry…” He found himself muttering after a few long moments, uncurling his fingers and grimacing when he realised they were covered in a sticky combination of blood and sweat. Geralt was warm against his back still, practically a furnace compared to the chill of the air. A chill that Jaskier could barely feel now. If there was any good to come from his sudden panic, it was that he was no longer quite as cold as he had been. What a joke. 

“It’s okay.” Geralt shifted, running his hand down Jaskier’s front, leaning to nestle his chin in the crook of his neck. “You were afraid. Don’t apologise for that.”

Had he been afraid though? Jaskier wasn’t sure. It was hard to tell, when one spent their whole life walking the knife’s edge between fear and bliss, never knowing which side one might drop down. Yes, he had been panicked, spiralling somewhere far away, but had Kaer Morhen really scared him? Or had it reminded him of who - of  _ what _ \- he was? They’d been travelling together for weeks, since the revelation of Jaskier’s secret and yet they had still to talk about it. It made something ugly twist in his stomach. Jaksier steeled his face so he wouldn’t frown and made an affirmative noise instead.

_ Close enough _ , he told himself. No need to drag himself out into the open light to be scrutinised. Geralt was already watching him so closely. Jaskier wouldn’t make him worry anymore than he already did.

“I’m fine.” He said instead, unable to think of anything else to say. It was meant to be reassuring, but he could feel Geralt’s frown against his neck at the words and he shifted, suddenly uncomfortable by how close they were. Blinking rapidly, he pushed Geralt’s hand from his face, taking another long breath.

“Jaskier-”   
  


“Let’s just go, Geralt. The quicker we get there the better, isn’t it?” He muttered, cutting Geralt off before he had a chance to protest, staring down at Roach instead of the castle ahead of them. Geralt’s gaze burnt against his back but he said nothing and eventually Roach began to move again, continuing her path up the mountain.

Once they were inside, things would be better. At least they’d be out of the cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaa I'm so sorry this took so long!! I had some severe writers block! It is here now though and this fic will be updated, even if its slow going!


End file.
